


Vala's Story

by freddiejoey



Category: Arthur of the Britons
Genre: Angst, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-30
Updated: 2011-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-23 06:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freddiejoey/pseuds/freddiejoey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The backstory of Arthur's mother and Llud - pre-canon</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vala's Story

Part One

 **“She's very pretty honey. I've never seen her before.” Kai crouches down to my four-year-old daughter, smiling. We are in the store hut, counting provisions before our next trading venture to the coast (and yes, for once, we are really counting, the door opened wide to the world, warm spring sunshine streaming in.) I look down at what my brother is referring to, clasped in Kaitlin's arms. It is a wooden doll, painted in bright colours, dressed in a wrap of peacock-coloured silk.**

 **Kaitlin smiles back at her uncle. “Grandad Llud gave it to me – he says she's very special.” That night I ask Llud where the doll came from – somehow it seems familiar....... Llud gives a wistful smile. “It was your mother's. It's been wrapped up in linen since she........went away. I thought it was time for Kaitlin to have it.” Our father looks at me, concerned. “You don’t mind do you?” I shake my head, trying to avoid his shrewd eyes. “Of course not. She loves the gift – that’s all that matters.” He pats my shoulder, frowning slightly and walks back to the hearth, calling to Kai’s boys that it is time for bed.**

 **Lenni is busy with the two babies while Rowena chases Kaitlin into her sleeping nook. I think then that I have escaped outside without being observed – yet I should have known better. Kai is on his way back to the longhouse after patrolling the palisade……….. He says nothing……but then he has never needed to……… Instinctively he has always known………. so, now, he knows simply to encircle me within his arms among the shadows, let me rest my head on his shoulder……..and allow me to weep……….**

He has a nightmare the night before I leave. I hear him cry out through the wicker wall and hurry to the recess beside the hearth where he sleeps. Arthur is tossing among his sheepskin coverings, sweating despite the cool autumnal weather, his dark hair tangled. I scoop him up into my arms – no easy task these days since he is tall for seven – and carry him back with me into the longhouse bedroom. My son does not wake up fully, whimpers a little, then subsides back into quiet sleep cradled against me. The thought that this will be the last time………… They commonly say that hearts break – they lie…… A break implies cleanliness, a definitive snap, a neat severing…… No, hearts do not break……..they shatter, they fragment, they shiver………

Long ago, there are four of us, all girls – Lia, three years older than me, Cadee three years younger and Una a year younger again. Our father Lucas Hael is Celtic by birth, Roman by persuasion and our mother Aberfa is simply Celtic and exquisitely beautiful. We live in a villa on the banks of the Eastern River, where Lucas holds vast estates and lives the life of a Roman noble. From my earliest memory I can recall the elegance of our home, the soft furnishings, the creamy marble. I assume that one day I will marry a son belonging to one of my father’s wealthy Roman friends – that my life will always continue in its comfortable accustomed fashion.

Brought up as well bred Roman daughters, we are taught the laws of obedience, modesty of speech, intelligence and self-reliance by our tutors – instructed in cooking, spinning and weaving by our mother. As Celts, we revel in riding – both astride and, more staidly, side saddle. It is a charmed life, full of love, girdled by certainty – then two things happen to change everything……utterly…… ……irrevocably…….forever

The first I still cannot think of without sorrow that cleaves deeper than any sword wound. It simply seems a fever like any other summer sniffle – a scratchy throat, chills, an ill temper. Nothing that a good dosing from the healer cannot cure. And it does not effect Lia or me or our father. Only Aberfa, Cadee and little Una who is six.

But we are wrong to doubt its virility. Within a few days, my mother and sisters develop a thick coating at the back of their throats, cannot move their muscles without groaning , cannot breath without heaving……… within four days they are dead.

Our father never recovers. I am ten, Lia thirteen and we try to take Aberfa’s place. Yet it is a thankless impossible task. Something we should have known – our ethereal mother is irreplaceable. Then events out in the wild wide world encroach upon our grief.

I suppose Lucas could have noted matters more carefully, prepared beforehand, made accommodations. However, as much as I loved my indulgent father, I recognize now that he was like one of those great flightless birds I have read about in Pliny the Elder’s writings, imagining that when they have thrust their head and neck into a bush, that the whole of their body is concealed. No amount of thrusting though, can change the fact that a few months after our mother and sisters’ deaths, the last Roman legion sails away to Gaul, never to return.

It is not a complete sundering which follows - rather a gradual whittling away. Some of Lucas’ Roman retainers decide to stay – such as Agrippa, the gladiator who had once taught my father the short sword and Agrippa’s free-born son Crispus . Many more elect to take their chances and flee – either to the slowly crumbling towns or on the Greek trader, back to the mythical lands across the water which their ancestors had once inhabited.

Whether they find the fortune and liberty they seek I will never know. Lia and I remain, watching as Lucas seeks his consolation nightly in a butt of Malmsey wine, as his fields turn fallow, as our lives too lay dormant. No advantageous marriages beckon now. In the Roman tradition we had thought to be wives by fourteen, mothers soon after. But who would seek to make a match with two black-haired chicken-pluckers in homespun, arms and faces berry-brown from the summer sun, nails cracked from making do?

Then, when Lia is just past twenty, Aberthol of Cornwall rides into our father’s compound. The name of Lucas Hael still evokes a certain image of strength and nobility, despite our father's recent decline. Aberthol is a burly man, perhaps ten years Lia's senior, with a brown beard and kind eyes. As king of his southern territory, he has heard that Lucas Hael has a pair of nubile daughters, educated, healthy, and not too unpleasing to look upon. The Cornish chieftain is ready to wed, ready to breed an heir – and he falls in love with Lia on sight.

That night she comes to my room to tell me she has accepted Aberthol’s offer of marriage. In a few days she will be returning with him to Cornwall. She will miss me, our father, our home – but she wants a hearth of her own, children, a husband who will respect her. Aberthol seems congenial and he is a fine warrior, a powerful ruler. The world has changed and we must change with it……. I don’t know who starts to weep first – I do know that once she holds me in her arms, neither of us seem able to stop……….

So Lia goes to Cornwall and I stay on with our increasingly dishevelled father, our increasingly dishevelled life. Nine months after she is married Lia gives birth to a son, Mark – a large boisterous baby by all accounts, the pride of Aberthol’s existence. When I hear from her Lia appears happy. She has a husband who adores her, a child she adores, a revered position as the Cornish queen.

Still, her happiness as a wife and mother is not enough to sway me the first time Hereward the Holy comes calling. The chieftain of a smaller province to the west, he has the reputation of being a fanatical Christian - as well as being garrulous, high-flown and frankly strange, peering out from his monkish hood. Lia has already refused several offers of marriage from him, based on his dubious reputation. Now, seeing him in person, I admire her astuteness. And I have no wish to follow his One God – Jupiter and Venus are enough celestial guides for me. Hereward is sent away after a huffy refusal. Better an old maid than affianced to a loose-tongued wind bag.

Lia comes to visit for the summer, bringing her chubby toddler Mark, making Lucas more cheerful as he coddles his grandson. At some point, she suggests that I should marry Agrippa's son Crispus. I laugh at her – Crispus is more like our brother, working the farm, settling Lucas when he becomes irascible. But the idea has merit and begins to take root – not exactly then, yet gradually over the next long frost-bound winter. Crispus is young and handsome, lithe and straight, named for his abundance of thick curly brown hair. He is familiar and makes me laugh. I am not in love with him – however it would be a pleasant amicable arrangement. We would have children..........

In fact, I have made up my mind to speak to Crispus after the next harvest. Lucas will think it a suitable match – anything that allows him to continue gazing into a wine vat will be welcome anyway. So, when the corn stooks are all in, piled north to south, and the first fruits and pigs have been offered to Ceres, I determine to approach Crispus and make my sensible proposal. The messenger from Travon of the West arrives the very next morning.............

He is seeking me as a wife. An ally of Aberthol, he has observed and admired Lia - a bride from the same stock would be most suitable. Travon is also a strong warrior with a formidable repute for courage, a mighty chieftain known for his dexterity both with the sword and at the negotiating table. If I marry him – albeit sight unseen – I will be a respected chieftain's wife, see Lia more often, have a life not bound by my father's crumbling villa and diminishing wits. But how can I leave Lucas?

It is Agrippa who advises me – he who had once fought each day for the very right to breath. He places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Go lay your problems before the oracle........”

The oracle is a Roman remnant. A woman of indeterminate age – but undoubtedly ancient – she dwells in a cave sanctuary beside the river. For a few coins or a gift of provisions, she will foretell future events, taking her response from the sacred oak growing beside her home.

Now I deign to visit her mainly to please courteous sympathetic Agrippa. Lia and I have consulted the oracle a few times in the past – usually over silly girlish nonsense that was of little account anyway. Yet, in one significant way, Agrippa's counsel is sound. Anything to still the indecision whirling through my head........

I go to the oracles's lair on an afternoon of soft misty rain, clutching a handful of silver pieces. She stares at me through her curtain of tangled smoky hair, bites on a coin to prove its validity, asks me my dilemma in a quavering voice. Usually then, she will cackle some barely discernible prattle and slink back into her murky refuge.

Impatiently I wait, half regretting my impulse to come. Suddenly the oracle casts her faded brown eyes back in her wrinkled head and gives a singsong answer: “West you go to wed the king, mother to he who under the stone finds the sword, beloved of Jute and heart-fast with Saxon.” Her voice is eerie, high-pitched, deceptively young......... She looks at me steadily, unblinking.......It was I who retreat, running back out into the showery dusk, relieved to feel the silken damp falling against my cheeks...........

Much of what the old woman says makes no sense to me then. I know very little of the Jutes – good horse-breeders apparently, a wandering tribe who had crossed the sea, found a deserted tract of land and settled quite peaceably. As for the Saxons....wild blonde barbarian invaders who plunder and burn and rape...... Any contact with them will only lead to pain and death.....

But, still, a resolution has been reached, a decision made. I will accept Travon's offer and journey west. Agrippa can take care of my father. What has my presence here achieved for years in any case? Lucas is still deeply unhappy, still pines for my mother, still uses the fermented grape for solace.

So the arrangements are made and I prepare to go. It will be a wrench – despite being almost one and twenty, I have never left my childhood home for any lengthy time. Everything will be strange and unknown – and there is the small matter of being bedded by a man I have never laid eyes on before when I am still a virgin.....

The night before I am due to leave two things happen: Crispus tells me that, with his father's permission, he is accompanying me to Travon's village, “to seek his future” as he puts it. Secondly, like all well-bred Roman girls, I sacrifice my childhood toys to the lares, the family spirits. There is just one item that I cannot bear to hand over – a wooden doll, swathed in brilliant blue, that my mother gave me a few months before she died. That I stuff into the bottom of a saddle bag – a talisman for good luck.........

I am ready before dawn the next morning, sitting with Crispus, hands folded, eyes downcast to hide my lurking tears......... A horse comes galloping into our courtyard and halts a few feet away. Someone swings from the saddle, a swish of green cloak and brown boots. “My lady? I am here to escort you to your marriage feast.”

And I look up into Llud's beautiful wise eyes for the very first time...........

 

Part Two

When do I know? Not in that first moment. I certainly think him pleasant, likeable, amicable. He makes me feel relaxed, eases my parting from Lucas with his patient humour, never questions why my father is not acting as my chaperone as he has also failed to act as Lia’s (The truth? It would involve too long an absence from his own maudlin company and his wine butts.)

We ride along westwards, Llud, Crispus and I, glad of the fine weather, the intermittent sunshine. Llud talks as we travel, good company, reassuring in his friendly demeanour. He is four and twenty, newly married himself. His wife’s name is Cerys; she is already with child; theirs had been a ……… love match of sorts. Yes, he has known Travon all his life, fought alongside him against the Saxons in the east. Travon is a loyal ally, a courageous warrior, a considerate gentle man. Yes, I will be taken care of by him, welcomed, wanted…….. He is so impatiently awaiting my arrival……….

At dusk, on the second day, we ride into Travon’s village. My initial impression in the encroaching night? Mud, a river, more mud, a lake, huddles of dilapidated knotty huts, further mud, brown flat greyish colours, wet mud sloshing at my hem as I dismount, a rough hewn longhouse, sodden mud clinging to my shoes as I stumble past the door sentries…….

Inside the longhouse Llud looks around smiling and Crispus in mounting horror. Even in the last years, without my mother’s stewardship, our villa has been shabbily comfortable. This is just stark, bare, harsh……. A splintery wooden table, a few leather stools, a few hard benches, one great carved chair obviously belonging to Travon,………. no colour, no fripperies, no adornment at all…….

"Well.” Llud gives me a hearty pat on the shoulder. “You and Catrin will have the longhouse to yourselves until tomorrow when Travon arrives back from King Athel’s for your wedding. Catrin is the daughter of one of Travon’s late petty chieftains – leaving soon to marry Yorath the Jute. I’m sure you’ll enjoy each other’s company. Our healer Ana has prepared a meal for you both, and there is fruit and mead.” He turns to Crispus. “You must spend the night with Cerys and I as our guest. My hut is this way…….” And so I am left alone in the austere bleak room, grateful for the rich scent of venison wafting from the cauldron over the fire, so close to tears that all I can see is a salty blur……..

But I am not the daughter of Lucas Hael, stoic Roman Celt for nothing. I straighten my shoulders, set out some wooden bowls on the brittle table, go to seek out Catrin. I like her at once – several years younger than me, small and delicate, with feathery brown hair and wide blue-grey eyes. She is lively and quick to laugh. Soon she will be on her way north to a new life, a Jutish marriage.

For now, though, it is just the two of us, sitting in a pool of candlelight, laughing over life’s vagaries and missteps. I ask her about Travon and Catrin repeats Llud’s warm opinion – only adding that his hair is russet, his voice like honeyed thunder, that he will soon be five and twenty. She herself knows that Yorath is older, not considered handsome, has a reputation for irascibility. Yet she is undaunted. “Both my parents are dead and I will be well looked after. The wife of a chieftain. It does not always pay to cling to romantic dreams………..” For a moment, Catrin’s gaze is sad and wistful. Then she jumps up, a sparkling girl again, eager to see my wedding clothes, excited to display hers…………….

Travon arrives back at midday. I hear him dismounting outside the longhouse, laughing with his men, calling greetings to the villagers. Honeyed thunder indeed…… Then he pushes open the doors and strides inside. Tall, shapely, fine-looking, hair and stubbled cheeks the colour of autumn leaves on the turn, bright brown eyes………. “My lady Vala.” He bows over my hand. “Welcome. I was told you were beautiful, yet I did not expect…..” Travon looks up, his smile reaching those bright eyes, making them glow. I feel the tension leave my body, feel a smile of relief forming on my lips. It is going to be alright after all………

We are married in the Roman fashion near sunset – a concession to my upbringing that soothes my homesick heart. The minstrel sings a traditional marriage hymn: “…and excited for a fortunate day, singing joyous songs, with ringing voice, beat the ground with feet, with a hand shake the pine torch……” I stand beside Travon under a fire coloured veil, in a simple white dress tied by a belt that Travon unknots at the appropriate moment during the ceremony. The auspices are taken by inspecting an animal's liver and wine is proffered to the gods. Our marriage contract is signed, in the presence of ten witnesses, including Llud. Then Travon places his right hand in mine, representing our silent exchange of vows. And so on to our marriage feast……….

I am lead to the longhouse by three eager village boys, two holding me by the hand, the third walking ahead of me carrying a torch which has been lit at the longhouse hearth. Arriving at the threshold, I cover the outer doors with wool, smear them with lard and oil. Finally, Travon scoops me up into his strong arms and bears me inside, grinning excitedly around at the guests. The banqueting begins……

Afterwards…….. well, I am nervous, trembling from more than the cold in the draughty bedroom……..But I am luckier than so many others. Travon, obviously far more experienced than me, is gentle and tender, telling me how lovely I am, smoothing back my hair, ensuring that there is sufficient oil……… I bleed more than I expected, not yet knowing that Travon is somewhat larger than is…….. customary, yet already sensing that beyond the pain there will soon be pleasure……. He falls asleep before me, one arm holding me close and when I sense that he is sleeping soundly, still I do not feel the need to move away…….

Over the next few weeks I become acquainted with the other villagers, adapt to my altered life. There is Ana, the knowledgeable village healer and her friendly husband March, Llud’s kind wife Cerys, already round with child, Travon’s young gravel – voiced lieutenant Tugram, pretty Olwen who is assigned to be my attendant and her freckle-faced betrothed Perry, a plump disagreeable child called Gobnat who trails around behind me asking obtrusive questions……..

Crispus settles in too, joining enthusiastically in the boys’ weapons training, displaying his proficiency with the short sword. Travon is often away, attending to the bloody business of being a Celtic chieftain in a world bound by pain and death….. At night he tells me of his dream – to one day form a Celtic alliance so that the Celts will band together against the Saxons instead of killing each other. It sounds idealistic, too far out of everyday reach - but I encourage him. Other times he plays me songs on the kithara with his deft musician’s fingers, asks me about my Roman education, my father’s philosophies. He is a considerate good-hearted husband, never asking too much, never disappointed by what I have to give……….

Then there is merry spirited Catrin to keep me company…… and always ready, with a steadying hand, a word of encouragement, a fortifying look, is Llud……. It is he who keeps my tears at bay when Catrin rides north to wed Yorath the Jute, during the second month of my marriage. I have become so fond of her that the parting is almost like losing Lia all over again…..

( A year or so later I will hear that she has given birth to a daughter Rowena – she seems happy, enchanted by her little girl, making the best of her arranged marriage to Yorath who is besotted from the moment he first sees her – one day, suddenly she is gone, dying in childbirth, her baby son stillborn, and I will grieve for a bright-eyed girl who brought me comfort with her joy for life. )

Soon after Catrin leaves, I also have something else to engage my thoughts. Not a painful absence this time but an absence of the best kind. For a few weeks I have suspected…..that month: am I?..... the next : I think so……then: certainly……

Travon swings me off my feet when I tell him, his ecstatic grin threatening to sunder his face. It has happened much more quickly than he could have ever hoped for - I am a miracle, a wonder, the cleverest woman in the world…… Llud smiles quietly, amused by his chieftain’s excitement, offering his delighted congratulations. My eyes meet his and almost…… but he casts down his gaze, murmuring about checking on the night sentries, the need to be with Cerys who is nearing her time………

It is a day of sunshine and showers a few months later when finally……. I am hurrying between the longhouse and the store hut, concerned about what Travon will have to replenish when he visits the Cornish port in a few days, composing a letter to Lia in my head that I want to write this afternoon……. And that is when I feel it stirring below my waist - something like butterflies fluttering, a tickling sensation, a small twitch and a shuddery thud.

Slowly realisation dawns. It is my child quickening within me…….. I look up, overwhelmed by warmth and love. Standing beside the store hut door is Llud, waiting patiently for me……. as he has waited since the advent of creation……… This time he does not look away….his eyes hold mine…… steadfast and sure… and all at once, I know…….

 

Part Three

So this is what it is to be in love – this consuming fire, this idea that I love him and that is the beginning of everything. It is also strangely comforting and tranquil – as if I have finally reached the end of a journey which is uncertain, yet which fills me with immeasurable hope…….

Of course, nothing can ever come of this. I have grown to love Travon for his kindness, his courage and his vision. Llud loves Cerys - the gentlest, most giving of women. But the heart is not a centurion to be commanded by barking injunctions and ancient edicts. It knows only the lingering glance, the weakened knee, the breath that catches like flame in your throat……..

Life goes on. Cerys bears Llud a healthy son, Shannyn. Ana announces that she is with child. My baby swells within me. There is a visit from some of Travon’s squabbling kinsmen, who come to the village so he can mediate their constant bickering. They bring their small sons with them – Garet and Gawain who have inherited their fathers’ disputatious personalities and are soon beating each other with wooden swords in the longhouse yard. I quietly shudder - fervently hoping that if my child is a boy he will have more sense.

A few months before the birth, Crispus accompanies Travon to King Athel’s territory in order to negotiate a new treaty. He returns betrothed to Athel’s daughter Tarian and leaves a week later to marry her and live permanently in Athel’s village. Another link with the past broken. Crispus laughs as we say goodbye, predicting that the baby will certainly be male, promising that he will come back to teach my son the Roman short sword when the boy is old enough. And I vow to hold him to his pledge.

As he rides away, Travon holds my hand in comfort – yet it is Llud I dare not look at for fear of betraying my need, the want that gnaws endlessly at the edges of my soul…… ( A sad story in a way, poor Crispus. He and Tarian seem to have been happy together but several babies are born and do not survive, before finally she gives birth to a hardy son whom they name Tarn in her honour. I see him once as a baby before I…….. travel north. He is a handsome boy with his father’s curly hair. Then shortly after Tarian is killed in a fall from her horse. Ill luck and blighted timing…..)

My child is born the night that Arcturus appears in the sky above the village. It is the brightest star in the Great Bear constellation, twinkling with a pristine fire, fierce and protective – Arcturus, the leader of the other stars. A long hard birth and I am likely to die – saved only through Ana’s skill and determination. Much later I will hear that Travon was willing to sacrifice his child that I might live - if it became a choice between me and the baby. Thank the gods it never comes to that – but it demonstrates the strength of his feelings for me, smites me again with guilt……

And when my son is placed in my arms for the first time, I discover that there is more than one way to fall utterly, irrevocably in love…..He is a magnificent mesmerizing surprise. Somehow I have thought that he will be the image of Travon - a brown-eyed russet-haired baby and that too would have been wonderful. But the down on his tiny head is ebony and his eyes will remain blue like Lucas Hael’s - only darkening to a truly beautiful midnight colour as he grows.

Another portent – I have assumed he will be named for Travon’s father perhaps. Yet no – he is given a completely new name. Travon decrees that “…. he shall be named for the guardian of the bear in the night sky, for the star that was watching over his birth as he will one day watch over his people.” Our son is called Arthur……..

Arthur is smiling and Ana’s new daughter Lenni is peering at the world with bright brown eyes when Llud comes to Travon and tells him the news that prostrates me all over again. As long as he is here in the village where I can see him every day, glance at him across the longhouse table most nights and feel my heart winging – but he is leaving. Moving to a homestead of his own thirty leagues away. And I am the reason. If not for me, he could stay here, where he belongs, where his roots lie. I have sent him away, bound him to the lie he proffers Travon about always wanting to farm his own land, be a person of the plough.

Llud, a farmer! He is a hunter and a warrior – my heart is breaking, otherwise the mere notion of Llud spending his days walking behind oxen would make me laugh out loud…….. Travon knows that there is some reasoning here that he is not being offered –but he cannot refuse. Llud is a free man. He has pledged his sword arm and will still fight beside my husband whenever he is needed. Therefore Travon cannot make him stay – and by going, Llud shows how much stronger than mine is the loyalty dwelling in his soul……

I deliberately stay inside the longhouse nursing Arthur on the morning that Llud and Cerys and Shannyn leave. Telling Travon that Arthur is restless and has to be persuaded to suckle in the quiet. All nonsense. He feeds easily and is asleep long before I hear Llud outside making his farewells. Later Travon ascribes my tears to lack of sleep and sets Olwen to helping me with mundane tasks I could do with my eyes closed anyway. The thought of Llud travelling steadily away, one more league further at a time, is unbearable and yet must somehow be borne. The daughter of Lucas Hael, schooled in Stoicism, pulls her shoulders back and pours the mead at her husband’s table with a smiling face. The girl inside learns that a heart will keep beating when every instinct tells you it has long been stilled……

But there are compensations – a beautiful healthy child, a loving husband, good friends like Ana and Olwen, a fulfilling life as the wife of a respected chieftain, doing all he can to protect his people and achieve stability. And others have far more oppressive sorrows to bear – by the time Arthur is taking his first faltering steps, Ana is certain that her Lenni is a mute, unable to hear, always destined to be silent. Courageous woman. What cannot be cured…… Soon enough, Ana is devising a signing system for her daughter, that Arthur learns alongside Lenni, that I too come to recognize. A sound lesson in eschewing self-pity.

The next two summers are warm and contented. The Saxons are less troublesome than usual. The Scots and Picts make only a few minor skirmishes over their borders. The Angles seem less inclined to plunder. Even Travon’s fellow Celtic chieftains enjoy a respite from pillaging each other. Of course, the comparative peace means that we rarely see Llud. I tell myself it is for the best – we have our happy marriages, our sturdy sons, so much to be grateful for……

As if to reinforce my sensible thinking, Lia visits again with her exuberant Mark, reminding me of the importance of family. Mark pinches Arthur and makes him cry – until one day when he picks up a wooden sword and wallops Mark smartly across his brown head, sending his older cousin off to Lia in floods of outraged sobs. Travon stands there, tears streaming down his cheeks, doubled up with laughter. He swings Arthur up into his arms and carries him proudly down to see the new battle horses. It is one of the final times I will remember them thus together…..

Lia and Mark have not long returned home when Aberthol of Cornwall arrives back in our village. His news is grim. The Saxons are massing on the plains near Ilchester. The period of quiescence is over. War is upon us……. Travon makes his arrangements. Calls on Hereward the Holy; the new young chieftain to our east, Ambrose, who still rules his province in the Roman fashion; King Athel who is no longer young but still astute and has Crispus to ride at his side into battle. And, on the way to Ilchester, Travon will be joined by Llud……

That last night…….we lay in each other’s arms…….do not sleep……..laugh gently…….make love tenderly more than once……..It is a bright-edged memory that I will treasure forever…….Then, it is dawn, he and his men gather on foot and horseback outside the longhouse. I hold Arthur up to his father and Travon sits his son in front of him for a moment, the tears pouring unchecked, openly, down his amber-stubbled cheeks. Then he hands Arthur back, grazes my mouth with his, wheels his horse northwards – and he is gone…….

It is a week before the news comes – although, in my heart, I am certain well before, as I think is Ana……..It is a feeling of…….hollowness, depletion, waste……I pray but the words are like ashen cinders on my lips.

In a way it is a relief when finally someone returns. Of course, it is Llud….. He strides into the longhouse where I sit waiting with Arthur in my lap. At first sight of him I melt with gratitude. Swept by joy, for a heartbeat, simply because he is alive - dishevelled, weary, dusty and unutterably beautiful.

Llud takes two steps forward and falls to one knee. “ Vala.” I see what he clasps in both hands. It is Travon’s sword – the weapon given to him by Aberthol to celebrate Arthur’s birth. Still bloodied from the battle field. “A victory for us Celts my lady but at great cost.” My head swims, I feel his warm fingers gripping my shoulder in consolation – and I know that I am a widow……..

 

Part Four

There are so many things to be attended to …… and so much to be mourned. And it is not only my grief at losing a young strong loving husband – my son has lost his father, the village its leader, Llud his best friend…… So, Travon gone, Ana’s March slain, Lia’s Aberthol perished too. All of us now left with bewildered children – and uncertain futures. Yet I am luckier than most in that regard. I have a clear role to play, obligations to undertake, duties to keep me putting one stumbling foot in front of the other.

Many of the dead are simply burned beside the battlefield. There is nothing else to be done since their numbers are so overwhelming. But Travon is bought home to be interred in the place of burial mounds – forever sealed in with a golden torc for his neck, an engraved bracelet for his right arm, his silver dagger, his second-best sword (since Aberthol’s gift is being preserved for Arthur), a bronze cauldron of mead, burnished dishes and drinking horns. Ana goes about the preparations, standing vigil by Travon’s body with Lenni on the night before his burial. I think that it might be some sort of solace for the fact that March’s body has been reduced to ashes at Ilchester. Only later do I realise that her feelings for Travon are identical to mine for Llud……..

The wounded are nursed – some thankfully back to health, others sadly on to Elysium. And when all the business of healing and mending has been dealt with, there are other decisions to be made. Arthur is now a child chieftain and, although there is already a council of warriors to oversee village matters, it is likely that a regent will be appointed. Llud is the obvious choice and I am sure that he will agree to stay. Cerys and Shannyn will also come back to live in the village. It is the only logical thing to do. While away in Cornwall, Lia is facing the same precarious future, making similar resolutions.

There is one terrible night, a few months after Travon’s death. The thought comes unbidden and I face it head on – it is inevitable. Deal with it and be dammed. I am now free and Llud is not. There, it has been stated, acknowledged, spoken out loud in my mind. Now, away forever and never darken my sinful soul again. I have a child to raise, a village to help protect, a heart to shield…….

Yet the Fates refuse to be still……… The next morning, I am standing in front of the longhouse, watching Arthur and Lenni play in the watery sunshine, looking after Ana’s daughter since she is still busy tending the maimed. When I glance toward the palisade I think that I am dreaming. A familiar figure, from another lifetime, a long ago world, riding toward me…….it is Agrippa, my father’s gladiator friend and more recently, his Roman keeper. His coming so far can only mean one sombre thing…….

Lucas Hael too is dead. A drunken fall one night in the frosty courtyard, a twisted neck, a flown spirit. At last he has joined my mother and will be at peace. I grieve for him – but there is a sense of deliverance intermingled with the sorrow. Now Agrippa has no home. He has given over my father's estates to the Celtic peasants who have been helping him farm there for the last few years.

Past sixty, he wishes to be near his son Crispus who is married to King Athel's daughter Tarian. I can assure him that both Crispus and Athel survived Ilchester and that Crispus is well and happy. Agrippa stays a month or so, helping in the village with rebuilding our defences, revising our warning systems. He and Llud readily form a friendship, admiring each other's intelligence and capabilities. It is a tranquil time after all the desolation and bereavement.

However I should have guessed........ Llud does not bring his wife and son back to the village. And one morning, when I visit the stables, he is readying his horse for a long journey........ “You are leaving.” A useless stupid statement since it is quite obvious. He tightens the horse's halter, carefully avoiding my eyes. “Yes, time to return to my homestead for good. I have reliable men working for me there but I have been away for too long. And Cerys will be tired of having a husband, Shannyn a father who only visits for a day before coming back here.”

Even more circumspectly, he unravels an invisible snarl in the animal’s sheepskin covering. “ I know it's been necessary. Yet everything is attended to now. You have seasoned warriors like Tugram and Olwen's Perry for protection. And Agrippa will be back soon.” I study the very interesting bales of straw in the corner. “Everyone is expecting you to stay on as regent.” Llud begins to walk his horse toward the door. “It's not essential. Believe me, I would stay if it was. And I am only thirty leagues away. My sword will always be yours. Now, I'll just go and say goodbye to young Arthur.........”

Suddenly it is simply beyond bearing.........I stand in front of him so that he has to halt. “Look at me Llud.” My voice is harsh, guttural, desperate.......He begins to raise his eyes..........I hold my breath.........and in that moment, Tugram rushes through the door behind me, flushed with excitement. “Llud......oh, good morning my lady Vala.......Llud, the scouts have returned from the great oak forest.......” And the moment becomes memory.........

Life winds on, full and busy and happy for the most part. Arthur is five, then six. Healthy, handsome, bright, avidly curious, fiercely self-possessed. Sometimes I think it would have been nice for him to have a brother. There are plenty of other village boys for company, Lenni is like his little sister, and Lia sometimes brings her loud rambunctious Mark to stay. Still, I would have liked another child in the longhouse.......

We see Llud three or four times a year. He comes to help preside over the seat of judgement and to sit in council with the other men of the village. Arthur loves his visits, viewing him as a father figure, whining regretfully when he goes back to his homestead, his life with Cerys and Shannyn. I am meticulous and mindful and observant when Llud is present. We are good friends. He is a great comfort and support to me. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing to hanker for but the moon.........

Agrippa spends his time between our encampment and Athel's. During Arthur's seventh summer, his grandson Tarn is born and he begins to teach my son the short sword. He is astounded at Arthur's skill and progress. But then Lucas was a master of this weapon, as was Travon....... And it is an aptitude Arthur will need one day when he comes of age, becomes chieftain in his own right.

Out in the world, the Saxons continue to menace, the Picts to threaten – and Travon's vision of Celts banding together with other Celts to drive their enemies into the sea continues to crumble. Rolf the Plunderer and Mordor raid and pillage; Bavick plunders other Celtic settlements, stealing women, cattle and supplies ; Meredydd, who is acting as regent in Cornwall until Mark is older, has a thirst for power and privilege.

Lia detests the man. I think it sways her decision to remarry when she is made an offer by Urien of Gore. It means leaving Mark for some of the year, going north to Urien's kingdom which shelters beside the great wall built by Roman Hadrian. Yet life is always a gamble, a compromise. More than many, I am aware of that....... So Lia, once a queen of the south, becomes a northern consort, gives birth to her daughter Braith.

There is no warning on the day that everything changes again for always....... I have been feeling accountably weary lately, aching in my joints, tight against my temples. Ana has given me several remedies, yet none seem to give relief for long. And there have been few quiet times recently in the longhouse. Crispus and Agrippa have been here, teaching Arthur further short sword dexterity. King Athel has been visiting as well, giving me a fine circular silver cloak clasp as a gift, a remembrance clasp in memory of Travon.

One of Athel’s men has made me uneasy for no tangible reason – Morcant, a black-haired youth with a round face, shifty eyes and a sly smile. Probably I am being overly fanciful because I am unwell. Yet I am still relieved when I watch Morcant’s horse disappearing among the trees beside the lake. That boy will come to a bad end I think capriciously. Try to chide myself for whimsy, watch the lilies rippling on the gleaming water – and shudder violently, despite the warmth of the spring sunshine……..

A little later I am playing a game with Arthur and Lenni beside the hearth, when Perry, Olwen’s usually-smiling husband, hurries into the longhouse. He is not smiling now – rather his brow is creased in concern. ‘Excuse me my lady, but there is smoke. Coming from east of the estuary, in the direction of Llud’s homestead. I would like to take some men……” I interrupt him sharply, heart pounding, head suddenly throbbing in unison. “Of course. Leave at once. God speed Perry.” He gives a quick bow and hastens out again.

Lenni pulls at my sleeve, eager to resume the game. Arthur though looks worried. “Is Llud alright Mummy?” I sit back down firmly on my stool. “Yes darling. Perry is just being careful. It’s probably nothing more than charcoal burners. Now, whose turn is it with the dice?”

They ride into the village late in the afternoon, almost at sunset. I see Llud first among the other men. It must be three months since his last visit and I have a silly trivial thought as I gaze at him – he has grown his hair and moustache and I am not sure if I like either or both. Then, looking closer, I notice the bleak set of his mouth, the glistening hollowness of his eyes – and the fact that he is not alone on the horse. Perched in front of Llud is a child.

Naturally I assume that it is Shannyn. But instead I see a tuft of blonde hair – Shannyn’s hair is the deepest brown…….. And gradually I realise……what Llud has huddled within the folds of his cloak is a small terrified Saxon boy…….

 

Part Five

 

Essential matters must be attended to in those first moments – hot food, a warm fire, something fortifying to drink. Arthur stands back, silent, observing with his calm deep blue gaze. Ana comes to examine the Saxon child, sends wide-eyed Lenni off to Olwen’s. And all the while Llud sits, instinctively chewing and swallowing, staring into the flames as if he is looking into the anguish of Pluto’s underworld……. Finally Ana takes me to one side. “The boy is suffering from sorrow, otherwise he is healthy. Llud too. What they both need is sleep. Perhaps, beforehand though, you could get Llud to talk. It would be good for his soul.” She presses my hand and leaves.

But, in the end, I need do nothing where the Saxon child is concerned. My practical son knows exactly what is necessary right from the beginning. He slides down the bench to where the boy sits, crumbling a hunk of bread into whittled fragments. “Hello, I’m Arthur. What’s your name?” Silence. But the boy glances up, seems to relax a little. “You must be tired. Have you had enough to eat?” A tentative nod. “Alright then, we’ll go to bed. I sleep here beside the hearth. I’m sure we’ll both fit comfortably.” Arthur holds out his hand……and, with a slight smile, the Saxon boy clasps it as if it is the most precious thing in the world…….Later I look in on them. They are sound asleep, fair head pressed against dark, hands still entwined……

Through the actions of children we are shown the way…….. I follow Arthur’s lead, take Llud’s hand in mine, sit quietly waiting…….. With a noise like a boulder cleaving, he begins to sob. And the story emerges: He had gone to the coast for supplies…… the Saxons attacked while he was away……Cerys, Shannyn and the others who farmed there are dead……..the Saxon boy was in the smoking ruins……an orphan apparently, motherless, his father slain at the homestead…..Llud does not know what sort of simpleton warrior would bring a child on a raid…….

When he is done, I kiss his forehead softly – as I do to Arthur after a nightmare. “Come, you need to rest now. Tomorrow will be time enough to……. think again.” Llud allows me to persuade him into the sleeping chamber, remove his boots, swaddle him in sheepskin. Eventually exhaustion and grief take their toll – and he sleeps. I lay beside him, watching, praying, loving……..

A week later Tugram comes riding in from a scouting mission to report that the Saxons are back. A longboat beached north of the estuary. He isn’t sure how many aboard – certainly not fifty or sixty – twenty perhaps. The men are called up, weapons are dispersed – and they ride and march out of the palisade, Llud, grim-faced, at their head.

By now the Saxon boy is more settled. Playing with Arthur and Lenni; eating with a good appetite; occasionally smiling to show gleaming white teeth. And he has a name. When asked what his Saxon name is, he simply shakes his blonde head and looks away. The same when he is questioned about his age – although I judge him to be around nine, two years older than Arthur.

Llud wants to call him Ol. A simple plain name, something he will readily get used to. But no – Arthur makes a face like a shrivelled nut. “He can’t be called Ol Llud. That’s not right. His name…….” My son chews thoughtfully on his lip – then suddenly grins happily. “Yes, I know, his name shall be Kai.” So Kai he is – and he seems contented with the choice. It is the best we can do since so far Kai has not spoken.

We wonder if he is mute like Lenni – although he can obviously hear well enough. He points and nods, grimaces and gives fleeting smiles. Lenni and Kai communicate adroitly with their fingers. By day, he follows her and Arthur around the longhouse; by night he sleeps peacefully beside Arthur. It will not always be so easy – because of his Saxon blood, there will be prejudice, resentment, confusion, even hatred to endure one day. But, for this time, it is enough. If only he would speak…….

Then, without warning, he does. Kai watches the men depart with a troubled expression, knowing where they are going and why. He is distracted all afternoon, frowning often to himself as he and Lenni and Arthur play knucklebones. At dusk Lenni is called home by Ana and goes regretfully, with lingering glances backward at her new flaxen-haired friend.

With Llud gone, we eat early. I watch the boys, busy at some boisterous game that involves leaping from bench to bench, pretending that the distance between is a river. Let them wear themselves out and sleep soundly. On edge and jittery, I am listening for the rhythm of returning hooves, for the sound of Llud coming back to me…….

At bed time Arthur cuffs the Saxon boy gently. “Come on. Alright, you can jump further than me Kai. But you’re older. I’ll catch up one day soon.” Kai offers a shy smile, takes a deep breath. “Arthur.” His voice is clear, musical, beautiful. My son turns back, his blue eyes round with amazement. We look at each other – and smile in relief. “Arthur.” Kai says my son’s name again, definitively. And this time it is he who holds out his hand……

They are still sleeping early the next morning when I hear what I have been seeking. Running from the longhouse I almost collide with Ana who is flying from the healer’s hut. Such a sad life we lead sometimes, so often waiting, so often counting less return than rode away…… But Llud is there, clinging formidably to his horse’s mane, attempting to somehow smile when his eyes meet mine, plummeting, without warning, to the ground at my feet – and I see that where his right hand once was is nothing now but a bloodied stump…….

Ana says that he is lucky if you can call it that. The Saxon axe slash was relatively clean. After being burned and treated with salves, the wound starts to heal quickly - although infection does eventually set in and there is an anxious time….. Yet Ana’s skill tells – Llud begins to recover, aided by his innate strength. And the enforced rest is probably a good thing in other ways too. Lying in the healer’s hut Llud has time to grieve properly for Cerys and Shannyn, for a life gone forever, for dreams that will never now be fulfilled in their original guises. Whether they will yet be realized in other incarnations of course remains to be seen…….

By the time Llud is tottering on his feet again, it is as if Kai has always been a part of our family. Silent no longer, he laughs readily, frequently bestows his beautiful smile, is polite and amenable. Intelligent too – making steady progress in the lessons he and Arthur have in reading and writing with Brother Amlodd.

The only activity I have not involved Kai in yet is the boys’ weapons drill. There may be cruel remarks made about a Saxon training to kill other Saxons, about the Celtic blood that his dead father’s axe has spilt……. I will wait on Llud’s guidance before proceeding there. Otherwise all is going well. Lenni is completely enamoured with Kai and, as for Arthur…….well, already he calls him “big brother.” The oracle’s prophetic augury sweeps my thoughts – “…….heart-fast with Saxon.”

So, it would seem that everything should be set fair………

On a windy autumn day, when the clouds scud across the peacock sky like restless coracles and the lake shines like burnished pewter, Llud emerges from Ana’s hut, ready to resume his everyday life. On his right arm is a heavy black glove, studded with silver, that Ana has fashioned for him. Before the winter is over, he will already be known as “Llud of the silver hand.”

Llud glances around, smiling, at the village bustle, waves jauntily with his new hand at Kai and Arthur who are observing the blacksmith work. They laugh and come running up to admire his unique adornment. Ana has recently cropped his hair again and he is clean shaven. He looks exactly as he did the very first time I saw him………

I stand for a moment in the shadows of the longhouse, watching him, my heart full. It would make so much sense – he, the boys and I, perhaps in time more children. Llud is Arthur’s chief lieutenant. Hardly able to recall Travon, Arthur regards Llud as a father. He loves Llud, so does Kai……….and, oh, so do I………

Then, Lucas Hael’s stoic daughter takes a steadying breath, straightens her shoulders and begins to walk toward the man who is the love of her life. He sees her coming, tells the boys to run back to the forge, meets her halfway, takes her hand gently in his good one……..

She has certain things to tell him. That he has always been the one. That although she loved Travon and he Cerys, their souls have been entwined forever. That, if matters were different, flames and brimstone would fail to keep them apart. That she will need him to be strong, to care for her son and the boy Arthur now regards as a brother. That this is the first morning she has awoken with blood on her pillow……..

 

Part Six

 _She probably expects me to be calm when she tells me at the longhouse table. And at first, I am – as you are, I have recently learnt, when you lose a limb in battle…… “How long?” The trusting hand resting in mine trembles slightly. “A matter of months…… certainly less than a year. I have known for a while and Ana has confirmed……”_

 _Guilt chastens me. I should have noted – despite being preoccupied with the loss of my hand. Vala has always been slender – now she is even more ethereal and ivory-pale………. Yet, since I have faith in myself remaining staunch, I am utterly unready for what happens next. After all, it is my place to be stalwart for Vala – as I was for Travon. But perhaps there is only so much…… recently losing Cerys and Shannyn and now…….._

 _In fact, I start to murmur soothingly. “I love you more than life – but then you’ve always know that - ” and get no further…….. It is impossible to see, to speak, to breathe…….and it is she, my sweet brave Roman girl, who holds me close, strokes my hair, kisses my tears………_

 _And then there are simply preparations to make, fabrications to construct, hearts to be harboured…….. Vala has decided to go north to her sister Lia and wait….. Arthur – and now Kai – will be told that she is visiting, going to see her new niece Braith and negotiate treaties with some wayward northern chieftains. It is not the wisdom I would have followed – but it is not my choice to make and I must respect hers. She is only acting as she thinks best from the very best of motivations – acting out of love……._

 _When Vala is gone I will travel to King Athel’s village on some pretext so that I can speak with Agrippa and Crispus. The truth for them since they have known Vala since birth and she trusts their discretion implicitly. (A trust that is certainly never misplaced but sadly need only be short-lived. Four summers later they will both be killed in a skirmish with the Picts, having kept their promise to teach Vala’s son the short sword. Ominously leaving little Tarn to be bought up by an increasingly frail Athel, leaving the way clear for Morcant’s treachery.)_

 _I will move into the longhouse with Arthur and Kai. Nothing alarming there – it will look like the sensible thing to do since I am a widower now and the boys will need care and supervision with Vala away…….. Only I will know that it is a permanent arrangement – and, of course, Ana, but she will keep her counsel, both as a healer and a friend._

 _There are a few unbearable moments……… When Vala gives Arthur the silver cloak clasp that was a remembrance gift from King Athel and tells him to wear it in memory of Travon. Arthur asks a little sharply why she won’t be keeping it any more and is instructed that his mother doesn’t want to risk losing it on the long journey north. Those knowing blue eyes, so much shrewder than seven, seem perhaps rather unconvinced………._

 _When I am handed Vala’s, wooden doll, preserved from her sacrificial offering to the lares on the eve of her wedding, and told to safeguard it in case Arthur ever has a daughter………….As she explains that, when the time comes, Arthur and Kai should be informed that it was a fever. “One such took my mother and two sisters. It will be less painful that way Llud.”…….No, I prevaricate and lie, every moment was unbearable and I would have broken utterly if not for the boys………._

A few nights before my last in the village I have a dream……….Vivid and sharp and very real……….On my bed in the longhouse sleeping chamber where I am now lying sit three little girls, the oldest perhaps ten, the youngest a plump toddler, the middle one probably five or six. And here is the mystery: the littlest is the image of Catrin who once married Yorath the Jute, with the same pretty brown hair and lively face, except that her eyes are Arthur’s, beautiful and midnight blue……. The middle one is a golden child whom I suddenly realise is a replica of Llud’s foundling, little courageous Kai - yet there is also something of Ana in the straight-backed way she sits, her intense expression……….Then the eldest raises her own midnight blue eyes and my heart leaps frenziedly in my chest because I am looking at myself……..

Slowly I become aware of what my likeness has clasped in her lap – a baby, perhaps a month old, that I know instinctively is a boy……But it is not exactly that which makes me gasp again – it is because the baby is so similar to Travon, strong chin and handsome features, identical russet hair………

All at once an adult woman comes into view, tall and elegant and……it is Lia! Though older, even more lovely in her advancing years, wearing a gown of her favourite peacock shade. Laughing, she bends down to the eldest girl with my dark hair and determined stare. “So Kaitlin, what has your new brother been called?” The girl Kaitlin smiles. “It was Uncle Kai’s idea, Auntie Lia – Baden, for the great Celtic alliance victory last year. ” (Her lilting voice is not mine – her manner of speaking is pure Travon, confident and self-assured.) Lia nods thoughtfully. “Alright, well we had better let young Baden sleep since he has such a worthy name to live up to one day.”

She takes the small blonde girl by the hand, scoops the chubby toddler up in her arms. “Come Maeve, Shannyn,” (the name of Llud’s dead son, oh……..my eyes well up), “He isn’t a toy you know. Anyway Grandad Llud is waiting for you.” And they turn to go, I shout out to Lia to stay, I want, no, I need to know what is happening……..the dream glows and fades……and I wake up weeping alone in my bed……..

I never mention the dream to anyone, not even Llud or Lia. It would sound quite mad somehow – and anyway, it obviously springs from some desperate longing deep inside me for reassurance that I am making the right choice in leaving. All the ingredients are there – Lia as an older woman, still strong and vibrant, her mention of Llud as a grandfather, the children that look like me and Catrin, Kai and Ana, Arthur and Travon, even the remark about a Celtic alliance triumphant, the culmination of Travon’s vision. Nothing other than my heart craving a surety that the future will be solid and bright and brimming with love for my son, for Llud, for young Kai too……..

Yet the dream had been so tangible, so certain…….perchance there are things……… and if I think on them too deeply I will never have the courage to go….. Firmly I put it behind me and continue to make ready……. All that matters now is what is best for Arthur ………

 _Kai comes back with me to my hut the night before Vala leaves. “Let’s give Arthur some time alone with his mother. Your brother might not see her for a while…..” He nods solemnly and I ruffle his wispy blonde hair, tears threatening to overwhelm again….._

 _If not for the morrow, it would be such a pleasant everyday evening. Such a spirited child, so easy to love……We laugh together when I char the meat for our supper, overheat the mead so that it scorches my lips. I tell Kai a story about being his age, visiting a market town with my father and seeing a Roman tight-rope walker, a funambulus. Chuckling, he demands a second tale from long-ago and a third – before finally falling asleep in front of the hearth. My precious golden son. Recompense from the gods……….._

 _Lying beside him through the long, yet never-long-enough night, I stifle my weeping so that he will not awaken and ask why……thinking on the future that might have been…… pledging my heart to the future that will be…….And then it is morning……_

It is much colder than I had imagined. But a good excuse then to hasten matters, tell Llud to take the boys inside out of the brisk wind. I see Ana standing at the door of her hut, Lenni peering around her skirts. She nods to me and I blow her a kiss. Even from his distance, I can see the tears gleaming on her cheeks…..

I hold Kai in my arms. “Be good for Llud and look after your little brother.” He reaches up and kisses my icy cheek. “Of course. Goodbye Auntie Vala. I will miss you.” As I will forever miss you, my little one…….

Llud pulls me close, whispering savagely against my ear. “Do not dare shatter my love……..Go with the gods…..and with my heart.” Breaking away before I become utterly undone, I bend down to Arthur…….

More I cannot recall without………there is the sight of him, proudly wearing Athel’s silver gift on his cloak, biting back tears……… his glistening blue eyes…..the feel of his sparrow body in my arms……..the satin of his dark hair against my lips……….

When I ride away I cannot bear to look back…….

 _Four months later Lia sends word that she is gone…………_

 _I still think of Vala every day – how can I not? She lives in my heart, the love of my life, my sweet brave Roman girl – and she lives on in her son…….._

 _My life is so rich – two loyal loving beautiful boys (and how they ever could have thought I would be angry about what they are to each other I will never fathom – one thing I will never condemn is true love…..), their beautiful wives whom I love as deeply as if they were my own daughters……..my beautiful grandchildren who are a daily blessing beyond words……..the friendship and tenderness of Olwen………_

 _There is a moment when Arthur, with a tearful smile, first gives me new-born Kaitlin to hold ………she is so like Vala in looks, that I fear, stupid old fool that I am………Yet I should know better…….for it is not sorrow of any kind that rushes forth when I gaze down on my granddaughter……but the most fierce joy and gratitude, a sense of completion and contentment……….._

 _It is simply Vala’s legacy……….._

Coda

 **I know that I have a nightmare the night before she goes away. She thinks I am still sleeping when she carries me to her bed but I am wakeful enough to hear what she whispers………**

 **Until then it has been an ordinary pleasant evening. Llud has taken Kai up to his hut so my mother and I can have some time together. I think he is merely being considerate since, the next day, she is going to visit Mark’s mother, my Aunt Lia. Much later, years later, of course I understand why……. But at the time, we eat supper and sit beside the fire while she talks about growing up with her Roman education and then she puts me to bed, singing a lullaby……..**

 **The words she murmurs make little sense to me then, although I know that they are an oracle’s presage. I can remember something hazy about a sword and a stone - a reference that gives me pause when I pretend to die and then unite my warring fellow Celtic chieftains. But the only words I recall clearly are the last half-dozen : “…… beloved of Jute and heart-fast with Saxon….”**

 **Now I come awake suddenly, hear pounding. Grey light filtering through the bedroom wicker tells me that it is just before dawn. Everything is very still, very hushed. For a moment I wonder if I have had a dream like Llud once did – a giant chasing him, armed with a spear, a portend of danger. But no, my dream has been misty and veiled. Cloudy shimmering colours dancing behind my eyelids. I have just awoken too quickly – and then I feel the wetness on my cheeks…….**

 **It has happened more than once in the last few weeks. Ever since Llud gave Kaitlin the doll that once belonged to Vala and I wept in Kai’s yielding arms. Ever since long dormant thoughts started spinning around in a circle. Ever since I noticed the way Kaitlin’s hair now curls at her temples, how she tilts her head when thoughtful……..and my memories sheared open…….**

 **Kai and our father have been away trading in Cornwall – although they should be back today. Perhaps if they had been home this disquiet would have resolved itself sooner. I could have spoken of what they too can recall and understand……. Or perhaps not. Lenni can remember just as readily and Rowena is the most empathetic woman in matters of the heart.**

 **Yet I have said nothing to them either. No, perhaps I have been meant to remain reticent so that I would be waiting……listening………because this time something else has been thrumming on the threshold of the shimmering dream. Something sibilant……wistful……familiar - the oracle’s message, spiralling through Vala’s tearful whisper……….**

 **Sitting up on my elbows, I look around, trying to calm my reeling mind. Rowena is sleeping in my bed, Luc beside her in a basket. And I have been sleeping in Kai’s bed. Across the room, his boys, Theo and Cedric, are tumbled in Llud’s bed.**

 **They exasperated Lenni last night, being boisterous. Maeve was fretful and Lenni is busy because there are still several warriors recovering from wounds inflicted during our last skirmish with the Scots. So, Rowena insisted on Lenni and her daughter going up to the healer’s hut early to rest, the boys continued to be rowdy and Rowena then dealt with them far more stringently than me – since I still have fond memories of acting in exactly the same way with Kai, infuriating Llud, but having a wonderful time. Of course, the end result was that she gave me a tongue-lashing as well, I said something less than flattering about viper-tongued shrews and we went to bed cross.**

 **All at once, though it all seems completely silly and insignificant……. Quietly, I climb into bed beside her and almost at once, fall back into a deep dreamless sleep….. When I wake up a second time, I can hear the boys and Kaitlin out in the main room of the longhouse, laughing and talking to Lenni. And Rowena is nestled in the crook of my shoulder, suckling Luc. Sensing my gaze, she looks up and smiles and I smile back. As simple as that……… Threading my fingers through hers, I doze off again, utterly peaceful, my mother’s whisper rippling softly at the edges of my thoughts, beloved of Jute….**

 **Next time I wake it is full morning. I have not slept so late for years – unless ill or wounded and dosed on one of Lenni’s sleeping potions. Yet I do not feel heavy-headed – merely soothed and contented. Stumbling out of the bedroom, I see Lenni at the table, slicing the bread for our midday meal. She grins and throws an apple at me. “You’ve missed breakfast. But Kai and Llud are back.” Lenni clinks the tawny copper bangle on her arm, obviously a new Cornish present.**

 **Suddenly I cannot wait………Crunching ravenously into the apple, fumbling into my cloak, securing Athel’s silver clasp, without a stab of grief, for the first time in days……**

 **Outside Llud, Rowena and Olwen are sitting with the children, our father dispersing the gifts he has brought back with him. Kaitlin is balanced on the fence behind her grandfather, the peacock doll – as usual these days – tucked under one arm. But the sight of it does not disturb me this morning. It is just a cherished thing, treasured by a cherished child, glowing in the brave early spring sunshine.**

 **Llud waves heartily. “A profitable trip. Go ask your brother what he bartered in exchange for our skins.” I wave back, nodding – but, in this famished moment, I could not care if Kai has traded a winter’s work for a bag of beans….**

 **“Hello sleepyhead. I looked in on you earlier but you were……” His voice behind me, beloved, beautiful, unutterably precious since the first time I heard him utter my name……. Kai looks a little startled as I pull him abruptly into the stable, look around quickly to see that we are alone and cover his mouth fiercely with mine. A kiss from the onset of time, when the sun was a hope and the moon was an angel, when we ran across a bridge of stars into forever……**

 **Laughing, Kai pulls away, playfully nibbling my lip with his strong white teeth. “And welcome home to you too little brother. Remind me to go to Cornwall more often.” Then his brown eyes darken with concern and he strokes a tender finger down my cheek. “Are you alright? The night before we left……I didn’t want to leave you…..” Smiling, I shake my head and cup a hand around his neck, under that flaxen thistledown hair. “All mended……and more so now that you’re home my heart……come here…..” And this kiss is slow, gentle, silken……. hope and angels and stars wheeling into golden gossamer infinity………..**

 **That night we go walking beside the ebony river. Two brothers discussing how the new red mountain cattle, exchanged for our skins, should be pastured (something about which I know precisely nothing), village defences, re-negotiating treaties – after all, we have been apart for the best part of two weeks. Except that, under Kai’s piebald cloak, his hand caresses mine and when we reach the darkness cast by the alders, I stand again in the circlet of his arms - as I did the night before he journeyed to Cornwall, my head cradled against Kai’s shoulder…….**

 **Only this time it is honey and contentment, solace and joy – and if my eyes do glisten as I breath in his musky scent, nuzzle his nape, butterfly the ticklish indentation at the base of his throat………. it is simply because I can at last fully recognize what my mother’s whisper foreshadowed …...**

 **Reminding me that everything is alright……..it has always been about nothing but love…….hand-fast, evermore, heart-fast with Saxon….**


End file.
